The Perception of Belief
by Alex Foster
Summary: After a woman is murdered in Hyrule Castle Town, Link immediately launches an investigation, but soon finds that the killer is much more than he first seems. When another person dies, Link learns that the killer has named himself a Knight of the Triforce.
1. Chapter One

Title: The Perception of Belief

Author: Alex Foster

Category: Mystery

Rating: R

Summary: After a woman is murdered in Hyrule Castle Town, Link immediately launches an investigation, but soon finds that the killer is much more than he first seems. When another person dies, a startling truth is revealed: the killer has named himself a Knight of the Triforce.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Nintendo. No money is being made and no infringement is intended.

Author's Notes: I have two lovely ladies to thank for helping make this story into what it is today. First, my skillful beta reader, Hugh Jasse. Her nit picking truly made this story better. Second, my friend and fan, Laura Celeste. I have her to thank for not only the dustjacket but for the quote down below, as well. For this story, I used the mytharc that Nintendo set down in LttP. For those unfamiliar with that story line, Link is the last of the Knights of the Triforce and never realized his heritage until being called upon to pull the Master Sword. My stories do not favor that game over the others, but that mytharc reveals the most about Link, and that is the one I feel offers the most room to expand. Lastly, I used characters from another of my stories _Darkness Rising_, but one does not have to have read that to understand this--it is a complete stand-alone story. And if you have made it this far, I congratulate you. Now, let's fly...

* * *

Every minute of every day we choose. Who we are.  
Who we forgive. Who we defend and protect. To choose a  
side or to walk the line. To play the middle. To  
straddle the fence between what is and what should be.  
This was the course I chose. Trying to find the  
delicate balance of interests that can never exist.  
Choosing by not choosing. Defending a center which  
cannot hold." _The X-Files_

* * *

****

Chapter One

It was called Russo's House. It stood at an unsavory end of Hyrule Castle Town with little adornment. It was called Russo's House, but the soldiers and villagefolk knew it by other names; some called it the Unholy Inn while others just the Inn. Palace guards would wink at each other and say they were going to pay a visit to the Inn after hours. Everyone knew what happened there, but few openly talked about it. Everyone knew the type of women the man named Russo employed, but few dared to whisper the name of their profession out loud.

The Killer walked down the shadow strewn hallway of Russo's House. Flickering flames danced in the lamps on the walls, spreading quivering pools of light against the darkness.

The Killer kept his pace slow and even, so that every step would be smooth and graceful. The sword at his hip gave a reassuring bounce with each stride. The Killer let his fingers drift down to the sword's hilt and touched the carefully wrought gold pommel. The sword was a symbol of who he was, of who destiny demanded him be. He was justice given life.

As he walked down the empty hall, he strained his ears listening to the sounds around him. It was late, but he could still hear the sounds of moaning and grunting coming from the rooms on both sides of the hall. In houses like this one, there was no time; there was always a pair of spread legs for paying customers.

The Killer stopped at the third door from the end of the hall. There was no noise coming from inside. He knocked once and then opened the door. After walking over the threshold, he pushed the door shut with one finger. It gave a gentle click at closing.

The windowless room was small and claustrophobic, and was lit by a single lamp on the nightstand. A bed was pushed against one wall, but still took up most of the room. It was covered in rumpled, stained sheets. A small ornament hung by a leather strap over the bed. A woman stood in the center of the room with her back to him. A simple white robe hung loosely over her shoulders. She turned at the sound of the door closing.

Dark, curly hair fell just past her shoulders. It was in a state of disarray that most men would have found alluring. Her painted lips held a grimace that many would mistake for a small smile, but the Killer knew better. Her eyebrows were neatly trimmed and arced down slightly, providing a frame for her large, brown eyes. The Killer could see tiny cracks in the makeup around those eyes. Were it not for the excess of paint, the whore might have been pretty.

"Are you free?" The Killer asked, his voice a breathy whisper.

The woman smiled, the cracks around her eyes deepening. A tiny flake of makeup broke off and fluttered down her face. The Killer followed it with his eyes, fascinated. "As free as I ever am, darlin'," she said, her voice was soft and pleasant, but holding little real interest.

"Good." The Killer moved a step farther into the room and took a deep breath of the air the woman had been forced to breathe. He could smell the warmth of the coals in the pan underneath her bed. He could smell the cheap, sickly sweet perfume she coated her body with.

She showed no fear of him, or of the sword at his side. She apparently held confidence that Russo downstairs, with his long knife and club, would assure her safety. Nor did she ask about money; again, Russo would handle that by making sure not one foot touched the staircase without first offering up rupees. The Killer idly wondered how a woman such as this could put any trust in a man like Russo.

"So what do ya like, darlin'," she asked moving toward him, her hips swaying provocatively. Her long, firm legs appeared briefly through the loosely cinched robe as she moved. The Killer could see the hints of brown nipples press against the inside of her robe with each jiggle of her bosom. "I'm yours to command," she continued. "Anything you want."

"I'm sure," the Killer said, watching her.

She reached him and ran her hands down the front of his green tunic. She gave a falsely seductive smile when she reached the waist of his trousers. Her red tongue slid across her top lip as her fingers fumbled with his belt. The Killer wondered how many men actually believed the show that she preformed for them. In the blink of an eye his hands went down and gripped hers lightly by the wrists, and he lifted them away from his trousers.

Still, her eyes were empty of fear. "What is your name?" he whispered, knowing she could feel the heat of his breath against her face.

"What does it matter?" she said in the same tone. "Don't pay me to have no name."

"I wish to know," the Killer replied. "I wish to know the name of the one I will do this to tonight."

The woman's eyes glanced down briefly and then back up to his. "Hasna," she said softly. Another man might have taken that brief gesture as a sign of vulnerability, but he knew better.

The Killer thought for a moment. "That means beautiful," he said. "You were named well."

The compliment didn't register in her brown eyes. The veneration of men at the completion of their selfish pleasure had no doubt made her immune to such praise.

"Thank you," she said. "But ya didn't pay to hear me talk. Let's go." She took a step backward to the bed, her hand pulling open her robe and letting it fall to the floor in a heap.

The Killer refused to look away from her eyes. So many men had come to this poor creature only to ogle her female flesh, but he would be different.

He could feel the power growing in his chest. Although he wasn't touching the sword, he could already feel it. His shaking hand moved toward the hilt. "Close your eyes," he whispered.

She glanced at where his hand was and obviously thought something different than he. She smiled and said, "Whatever you like, darlin'."

The Killer took and deep breath and wrapped his hand around the hilt. Instantly the power exploded in him. Every muscle in his body tensed as the mysterious energy that was his birthright raced through his veins. He lowered his head and committed himself to the act he was about to perform. His eyes looked to the ornament hanging on the wall, the symbol under which he served.

"Are you ready, darlin'?" the whore asked.

"Yes, darling," the Killer said through clenched teeth. He was panting with the need of releasing the power. He slowly drew the sword from its scabbard. "I am ready." He brought the sword around. The blade flashed in the dim lamplight.

Hasna opened her eyes in time the see the gleam of magic in her killer's eyes, and then she knew no more.


	2. Chapter Two

****

Chapter Two

Link pushed through the throng of onlookers, muttering apologies for bumping into people and stepping on their toes. Stumbling out of the crowd, he walked past the ring of guards keeping the swarm of onlookers out of Russo's house.

He strolled through the open doors and into another mass of people; this time a throng of men in the armor of the palace.

"Glenn?" he called over the low rumble of conversation flooding the room.

"Here, Link!" said a deep voice from the horde. A few moments later the owner of the voice came into view. Glenn Tarmag, Captain of Guard to the castle of Hyrule, was a large, beefy man with thick, yet neatly trimmed, beard. His normally jovial expression was weighed down with the importance of the matter at hand.

"Gods, Glenn," Link said, when the older man reached him. "I haven't seen this many Palace Guards in town since the fire last year."

"Aye," Tarmag agreed. "But desperate times call for desperate actions. We haven't had a killin' here in a long time."

Link nodded and looked at the staircase. "I'd thank the Light for that," he said, "but it seems the trend has ended. Let's go."

With Tarmag leading the way, they began pushing through the crowd. "I'm sorry for gettin' ya up so early, Link," Tarmag said as they climbed the stairs.

"Oh, it's all right," Link said, following behind. "I've been meaning to cut down on sleep anyway."

The congregation of people thinned somewhat as they neared the second floor. Link and Tarmag made their way down the narrow hallway to the door third from the last. Link took a deep breath, preparing himself, and then followed Glenn inside. The body lay crumpled in the center of the room; her head had been severed and rested against the wall to the right of the body. Dry blood covered the bare torso. A splatter of blood on one of the walls was a sign of the horror the room had witnessed.

Bile and the smell of death mixed together on Link's tongue. He looked away and squeezed his eyes shut. He felt Glenn's hand on his arm. "Do ya need a minute, Link?" he asked.

"No," the Knight said, opening his eyes and steeling himself to the task at hand. He walked past Tarmag and studied the room with a penetrating gaze. "Who found her?" he asked.

"Another girl," Glenn said. "Walked in and found—this."

Link nodded absently. He crouched down next to the body and examined the hands. "No cuts," he said softly.

"We thought maybe her 'client' got too rough and she tried to get away," Glenn said, his words dripping with disgust for someone who would go to a prostitute.

Link looked up. He said nothing about Tarmag's tone; instead he stood and walked to the bed. He reached down and felt the top of the stained sheets. "No," he pronounced. "They hadn't done anything yet." He looked over his shoulder. "The bed's cold and she's warm. The robe on the floor didn't fall off when she fell—she took it off and then took a step backward. She was enticing him back to the bed, not escorting him from it."

Glenn nodded as he looked about the room, this time, Link surmised, seeing it with a less prejudiced opinion.

The Knight walked away from the bed and to the doorway. "Sergeant Hassan?" he said to the guard outside the door.

A man in the armor of the palace appeared in the doorway. "Yes, sir?"

"May I see your sword a moment?" Link asked.

Hassan's eyes looked briefly to the Master Sword at Link's hip and then drew his blade. "Here, sir."

"Thank you, Sergeant." Out of habit, Link rolled the sword's hilt in his hand feeling the balance of the blade. "Let's play pretend, Glenn," he said

Tarmag nodded once and stood in the center of the room, just in front of the body.

Hassan watched with rapt attention as Link studied the floor for a full minute and then took up position two paces from Tarmag. He raised his borrowed sword and touched Tarmag's shoulder.

"Left handed," said Link and Glenn together.

Glenn bent at the knees so he was approximately the same height as Hasna. Link raised his arm slightly so the blade was now to Tarmag's neck.

"Slightly taller than me," Link said, and then gave Hassan back his sword.

"How," Hassan said taking the sword back, "could you have known all that?"

Link gave a grim smile. "Simple." He pointed to the floor and then to the wall. "This is where the killer stood, if you look closely, you can see there isn't enough room to swing a sword with both hands. To do that he would have had to taken a step forward and to the side letting the sword complete its arc and reach the woman's neck. He didn't do that. We can tell by the way her body fell.

"Very few women would just stand and let a man take her head—she would have pulled away. Doing that she would have fallen on her side. She didn't pull away—she didn't see the swing. The killer didn't use both hands. Since he didn't use both, he would have used his dominant arm. From the way her head left the body, we can tell which direction the swing came from.

"If you look at the head and the body," Link continued, "you can see that it was a clean cut. Straight across. That tells us two things. One, the killer was taller than the woman—had he not been, the cut would have had an upward slant. And two, the killer was strong. Very strong. It takes a lot of strength to take another's head with one swing and very little leverage."

Hassan blinked. "And you could tell all this just by looking at the body?"

"Of course."

Hassan shook his head in amazement.

Link took another glance at the room. "I want to talk to Russo," he said. "He should remember a large man with a sword..." he trailed off as his gaze locked on an object hanging on the wall above the bed. Crossing the room in two long strides, he reached out and lifted the ornament gently with two fingers. He let out a long breath and turned back to the body. He knelt next to the head and whispered a prayer to the Goddesses.

"Good bye, dear child," he whispered. "May your spirit find peace in the place free of hate and pride." After he stood and started for the door again, Glenn gave him a question filled stare.

"That's a joined Triforce on her wall," Link explained. "She was religious."

"But, why—" Hassan started.

Link walked past them and looked over his shoulder. "She was a whore," he said without judgement in his voice, "no one else would have done it."

* * *

The man named Russo was downstairs sitting at a table with two of his employees beside him. He was holding his near hairless head with both hands and had a drink in front of him. From the redness in his eyes, it didn't seem to be his first. He was fully dressed, but Link gathered by the rumpled look to his clothes that he had put them on in a hurry.

Link looked to the women sitting beside Russo. His gaze settled on the one to his left; she was clad in a white robe knotted firmly at the waist. Her dark, curly hair was mussed and stuck out at odd ends. Her brown eyes were puffy and red. She had a hand on Russo's arm.

Link sat across from them and waved Tarmag and Hassan back. He reached out and touched the woman's hand gently. She gave a small start. "I'm very sorry you had to find your sister like that," he said. "I know she must have looked out for you here. Know that she knew how much you valued her."

The woman glanced up in surprise. "How did you know?" she asked, wide eyed.

Link gave a friendly smile. "I have a way." He looked to the other woman. He saw sadness in her eyes, but also wariness. He said to her, "Why don't you and your friend go in back and wait for Nebra?" He gave a quick and hard glance to Glenn, a silent order to have the local healer there by the time the two women finished lighting the candles in the other room. Silently, he cursed Glenn for not having Nebra here before being told to do so.

"When she arrives," he said, again adopting his soft tone, "have her brew up some Firmeth tea. It will ease the pain."

The second woman nodded and then, with her arms around the first, walked to the back room. Link waited until they were out of earshot before turning to Russo.

"Mr. Russo," he said, his soft tone now gone, but he kept the edge dull, "you have a reputation for caring for your employees. For making sure they are well protected. I am going to put your caring nature to the test. A man came in here tonight, he was carrying a sword, probably had a dark cloak on. Who was he?"

"Sir," Russo said helplessly, "we have many travelers come through here. I cannot remember all of them."

"There was only one that mattered tonight," Link said. "And you will remember him. For the sake of those two women in the back, at least."

"Master Link," Russo said. "I would if I could, but—"

Link sat forward, a dangerous look flashing in his cold blue eyes. "He paid extra so you would overlook the sword on his belt."

Russo blanched. "I-I didn't know his name," he stammered.

Tarmag took a step forward. "Describe him. What'd he look like?"

Russo thought for a moment. "Tall," he said at last. "Narrow build, didn't look like he could even hold the sword he was carrying—"

Link and Tarmag shared a glance. Russo stopped speaking, as though thinking he had said something wrong.

"Are ya sure about the build?" Glenn asked. "Narrow?"

Russo nodded. "Yes, sir. Very sure."

Another glanced passed between Link and Tarmag. "Continue, Mr. Russo," Link said.

"He was pale," Russo said quickly. "I remember that well. He was wearing a long, dark cloak like you said, Sir Link. He had it pulled over his sword, but I saw it. Don't think I could forget it."

"Why? What was special about it?"

"It, well, looked expensive." Russo leaned in close as though telling them a deep secret. "Very expensive."

"How so?"

Russo considered the question. "It...had a rich feel about it. An important feel. The scabbard was black, very finely tooled. It had a braiding of gold down its length. And the hilt, the hilt was very elegant looking."

Link leaned back in his chair, it creaked underneath him. He pointed to Glenn's sword. "Like that?" he asked. "Did it have the seal of the palace on it?"

"No, nothing like that." Russo thought for a minute. "Come to think, it did have an emblem on it: a Triforce. The ends were touching."

The hairs on the back of Link's neck rose. Gooseflesh ran down his arms. Slowly, he slid his chair back and stood. Before Russo could react, he had pulled the Master Sword free and laid it on the table between them. The polished blade gleamed. "Did it look like this? Is this what the killer wore?"

Russo reached out and touched the hilt with his fingers, only to quickly pull them back as the steel burned his fingertips. "Yes," he said, looking up. "That's it exactly."


	3. Chapter Three

****

Chapter Three

His name was Casper.

He was an average man with an average build. At first and second look there was nothing special about him, he was just another face in the crowd. Though he didn't know it yet, two things made Casper special as he walked down the empty street.

The first was the fact that this average man with an average build had killed someone. He didn't know he had, of course; Casper was a man who would have been horrified to injure an animal, but he was responsible for the death of another average man. Casper was a tax collector for the crown. He knew most people didn't like tax collectors, but he took a small amount of pride in doing a job so few wanted. It was his. In an average life, with an average wife and an average child, he had a job that was somewhat above average. It made him happy.

Four years ago, a shop owner had robbed a traveler of his rupees in order to pay the tax on his building. The traveler had been stabbed during the robbery, and later died. The shop owner had been caught, but not before he used most of the money he stole—used it to pay the tax collector. That collector had been Casper.

Casper had never known he had been the reason the traveler had been killed. He had known of the murder—it had been big news—but in his average mind, where he could never have an affect on the lives of so many, he had never put the two actions together.

The second thing that made Casper special this night was the fact he was being watched. Unknown to him, a man stood in the shadows in a long cloak with a unique scabbard at his side.

The Killer took a step forward. He drew his sword and held it against his leg, keeping it hidden underneath his cloak.

He had been watching Casper for a long time. He knew the roads the tax collector walked every night on his way home. He knew that many nights Casper would tell his wife that he would be working late and then spend several hours at a tavern. He knew that on those night Casper would dance and laugh with a woman who was not his wife. This was such a night.

After a few moments, Casper seemed to hear the clop of boots behind him. He slowed and looked over his shoulder. When he saw the Killer, he smiled a friendly smile. "Hello, good sir," he said pleasantly.

The Killer returned the greeting in kind, and then asked, "Your name is Casper, isn't it?"

The collector stopped walking and turned. He was now facing the Killer. "Yes," he said, "it is. I'm sorry, but do I know you?"

The Killer stopped two paces away from the average man with the average build. His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. "Not exactly," he said. "But I have been waiting a long time to meet you."

"You seem to have bested me, good sir," said Casper. "As you know my name, yet I do not know yours."

"My name," the Killer said, "is Justice." He turned his wrist to the side.

Casper frowned. He opened his mouth to speak, but never got the chance.

Casper was still frowning as the Killer brought his sword up in a whistling arc that sliced the collector from his belly up to his neck. The Killer took a step back as viscera spilled out across the cobblestones. The man named Casper crumpled.

He leaned down and wiped his sword clean on the dead man's clothes. Straightening, he turned and stopped cold. A woman stood at the end of the street.

Her hands were held to her mouth. Her faced looked as though it had been drained of blood. She worked her jaw trying to make her voice work.

The Killer raised his hand. "Madam," he called. "You do not understand. This man was unjust. His punishment is now being served in the underworld." He took a step toward her.

And that step was all she needed to make her voice work. The night was lit by her shrill scream.

* * *

Link and Glenn looked up as one when they heard the scream. Still holding the bared Master Sword, Link was the first out the door.

The crowd of onlookers was now turning looking over their shoulders, worried that something might happen to them.

"Everyone split up," Link said, sweeping his arm in an arc. "Break by threes and stay together. Find her." When no one moved, he raised the Master Sword threatenly and yelled, "NOW!"

The crowd quickly scattered and ran off in different directions.

Glenn began issuing orders to his men, assigning them to different groups of villagers.

Link shuddered as a cold shiver ran up his spine. For a moment he thought he felt something...familiar. He shook his head, brushing it off. Turning, he said, "Glenn, have your men setup a—"

Another shrill scream followed by a man's shout of surprise cut him off.

Link turned about, straining his ears. He could hear the villagers calling out to one another, making sure of each other's safety. He raised his hand and pointed. "There," he said.

Only half aware of Glenn following behind, Link took off running. Buildings cloaked by the night flashed by. Like a bloodhound lost in the hunt, Link darted down alley after alley. He ran past the Town Square and down a street that still showed signs of the fire the town had a year ago; dark scorch marks on the walls of the buildings faded into the shadows of the night.

Link turned another corner and came to a sudden stop. Glenn, unable to stop so quickly, ran into him.

The sight that greeted the Knight was an odd one; before him was a palace guard with a sobbing woman clinging to him. He had one arm around her and in the other he held a small bow. A look of pure shock lit his face. On the ground, several strides away from the guard and woman, lay the body of a man. He had been cut open and his insides allowed to escape. His face held on odd frown, forever frozen in asking why he had been killed.

Tarmag strolled past Link. Villagers and palace guards were beginning to appear at the ends of the street. "Report, soldier," he said to the stunned guard.

The guard pointed with his bow. "He was there. I saw him."

Link looked up from the body. "Who?"

"The...the killer," the guard said. "He was running away. I called for him to stop, but he didn't. I had to."

Link took a step forward. "What? What did you do?"

The guard held up the bow. "I shot at him." Two villagers came up and took the sobbing woman from the guard.

Link looked down the street, judging the difficulty of the shot. "You missed him." It was not a question.

"It would have hit him, sir," the guard insisted. "But...he caught it."

The Knight's hawklike gaze turned back to the guard. "He what?"

"Yes, sir. It was heading straight for his back, but he just...spun suddenly and caught it. He let it drop and continued on."

Link stumbled back a step, digesting this new piece of information. He ran his fingers down the Master Sword's hilt, feeling the hills and valleys of it.

"I want a perimeter setup," Tarmag said. "He couldn't have gotten far. Use all force necessary to restrain him."

"He was very fast, sir," the guard said, still holding his bow. "He didn't move like a normal man—he was blur."

Glenn nodded. "We'll find him." At that, the crowd broke up and began moving off, forming the search pattern.

Link grabbed the Captain of Guard's arm as he walked past. "Glenn, a moment please?" He glanced around making sure no one was within earshot. "Glenn, what I am about to tell you is known only to one other person in this world. After I tell you this, I am counting on your oath to the crown to keep it a secret."

"I won't tell a soul, Link," Tarmag said.

Link took a deep breath and began. "Several years ago I was evolved in a serious quest. No one knows of it because...Zelda...made sure it was kept secret." Link really didn't want to try and explain the complexities of time travel in the middle of a dark street. "During this quest, I had to fight a dark shadow of myself. He had all of my abilities and weaknesses. He was me. A twisted mirrored version, but it was me. I thought I slew him, but if there is a killer here that has a sword that looks like mine, and that can grab an arrow in mid-flight..."

Tarmag nodded. "I understand. If it is this shadow...does he look like ya?"

Link nodded. "He's my twin."

Tarmag looked uncomfortable. "If we should be separated..."

"Watch me, Glenn," Link finished for him. "If I do anything unusual, anything at all, you act. If you don't, it could be the difference between success and failure."

"I understand," Glenn said again. He turned to walk away.

"Glenn," Link said, stopping him. "Until we know for certain, don't let me near Zelda."

Tarmag looked as though the weight of the world had just been placed on his shoulders. "Aye," was all he said.


	4. Chapter Four

****

Chapter Four

The power of the Master Sword suddenly rose up in warning within Link. He grabbed Glenn's arm and pushed him against the wall of a nearby building. Spinning, he raised the sword defensively. It flashed in the moonlight.

At the end of the empty street was a tall, cloaked figure. He held a sword at an easy position in front of him. It was indeed a replica of the Master Sword, Link saw. The color of the hilt was a deep black color instead of blue, but the winged crossguard and Triforce emblem were the same.

The scraping of steel against leather told Link that Tarmag had drawn his blade. Link shook his head and waved the older man back. He knew Glenn was a very skilled swordsman, but if his suspicions were true, skill would be of little use tonight.

Link took a cautious step forward. "Who are you?" he asked. "What do you want?"

The figure tipped his head to the side, as though considering something, and then mumbled under his breath.

Link frowned. "Excuse me? I'm sorry, but I couldn't hear you."

The figure took two long strides forward and, with one hand, pushed back the hood of this cloak.

Link held his stomach muscles tight; he waited to see his own face staring back at him. The hood fell back and...he was looking at a stranger's face. The man's thinning hair was nearly gray, his blue eyes looked as though they hadn't seen light for a long time, and his hook shaped nose looked as though it had been broken several times. He was smiling.

"Brother," he said, his voice slightly nasal. "We must be brothers, that would explain it."

Link glanced over his shoulder at Tarmag. "Explain what?" he asked, looking back to the stranger.

"Why, what we are, of course," the man said. "You and I. We share it, can you not feel it?"

"What are you?" Link asked quietly.

"I am a Knight," the man said, his voice full of pride. "A Knight of the Triforce."

Link nearly dropped the Master Sword in shock. Confusion and fear churned together in his chest. It couldn't be, he told himself. He was the last—he had been told as much. It was in the prophecies. He was the last of his line. The last of his kind. But...it did make a small amount of sense. He remembered the times he had held the sword's power in battle—he had been quite capable of catching an arrow out of mid-flight.

He thought of the woman earlier—he had said that there wasn't enough room to put enough strength in a decapitation swing—then he thought of how, as a child, he had cut through solid stone with the Master Sword. He remembered Impa's words from so long ago: "You are the last Knight," she had said, "when you grow, and have a child of your own, you must train him in the things you have learned. This country cannot survive without the Knights of the Triforce." He remembered the young guard's words earlier that evening: "He moved like a blur."

Link shook his head. "It's not possible. I'm the last."

The man seemed not to hear him. "I always knew there was another, but I never dreamed I would meet him so soon. Is your mission the same as mine?"

"Mission?" Link asked bewildered.

"To restore justice," he said. "That is my purpose here. I must bring justice to the unjust. I am justice given life."

Link forced his dry throat to swallow. "Put down your sword...Knight. And we will talk about this. I have many questions for you."

The man's grip on his sword tightened. "No. I must continue my mission." He eyes turned to Glenn. "And halt those who would interfere."

Link's guard came back up. He stepped to the side, shielding Glenn. "You will not hurt him, or anyone else for that matter." He hardened his tone. "Now, again, put your sword down."

"No!" The man raised his blade. Magic danced dangerous in his eyes. "You have been corrupted by them! You have turned against your heritage. Your training."

"Back away, Glenn," Link said softly. "I don't want you too close to this."

The killer's breath was coming in short gasps. "I do not wish to hurt you," he said.

"Nor I you," Link said. "So just release the power and drop the sword. I promise justice will be found."

"NO!" The killer took half a step backward and then launched himself forward. His sword coming around in a purpose filled swing. His cry turned into a magic-driven battle scream.

The power of the Master Sword exploded in Link as he brought his own blade up the meet the attack. It raged through his veins like a second blood. It bit into the back of his throat causing a battle cry of his own. Time seemed to slow. Out of his peripheral vision he saw the sword coming up. Link suddenly felt like a helpless bystander, being dragged along with the powerful magic and the strong emotions that whirled inside him. This was not how it normally was, he realized suddenly, too late to stop it. This was uncontrollable, raw magic from the Master Sword, not the seductive, tantalizing magic that normally did his biding. This was different. This was a primal rage from the magic at the killer before him. It took Link's breath away.

With agonizing slowness, the Master Sword and the killer's sword came together. The impact jarred Link's arms. With a bright flash of light, a fountain of sparks erupted from the touching swords. Magic exploded around the blades with such force that the sparks shot up into the sky, seeming to become smaller than the stars.

Link threw his head back, mouth open in a silent scream. It felt as though every drop of blood in his body had been turned to ice water. A bitter taste flooded his mouth. The roar of the magic still thundered in his ears. Blue lightening crackled between their swords. Around them the earth seemed to quake. Windows suddenly shattered, raining glass down on the street. Cracks appeared on the walls of the buildings and ran up the sides like small fingers.

Link looked to his opponent and saw the killer experiencing the same thing he was. He tried calling back the magic, but it was like trying to rein in a thunderstorm. Link focused all of his strength, all of his will, into pulling his sword back. Somehow, he could feel the killer doing the same.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the blades came apart with the sound of reality itself ripping.

Link felt himself flying backwards through the air. His back hit something solid, and he fell to the ground. The Master Sword clattered away. He rolled onto his back with a grunt. He could hear sounds of shouting. Glenn was telling someone not to do something. He was warning someone away. Link wished he could understand all that was being said.

As the last of his strength gave way, Link fell into a void of darkness and silence.


	5. Chapter Five

****

Chapter Five

Link smelled something foul. Gagging, he fell backward.

"That's better, Hero," he heard Nebra say.

Link opened his eyes. A collection of palace guards and villagers were clustered around him.

Nebra pulled the handful of herbs away from his nose. "You took a hard spill," she said. "But I've seen you with worse."

"Thanks." Link pulled himself into a standing position. He leaned against the wall he had fallen against earlier. "What happened?"

"The instant yer sword touched his," Glenn said, "a mountain of sparks exploded and then there was a loud boom and the two of ya flew apart."

"An instant?" Link pushed Nebra's poking hands away from his head. "It felt like I stood there hours."

Glenn shook his head. "Happen just like that. I never had a chance to move."

"What happen to...him," Link asked. "Did you catch him?"

Glenn shared a glance with his men. "He didn't pass out when he landed. Welan tried to block him as he ran away and...didn't make it."

Link cast his gaze to the ground.

"Broke his sword in two," Glenn said quietly. "Just like I've seen ya do."

An uneasy silence fell over the street. Nebra finally shattered it: "I still have some Firmeth tea left," she said to Link. "It will help your head. Come."

Link shook her hand off his arm. "No. I have too much to do. Glenn, I want you to send a messenger to the castle. Have a ring of guards form around Zelda. I don't care if she's sleeping, pacing the floors, or in the privy—I want her surrounded by steel. Then have every guard they can spare out here, have them gather in the town square within the hour. I want a full unit: torch bearers, bladesman, archers, and footman." Tarmag nodded as he made mental note of each item. "Finally, once the troops are out of the palace, seal it up so tight not even the rats can get out."

Tarmag gave a final nod and began issuing orders. Link leaned back and accepted a small twig of leaves from Nebra. Following her instructions, he placed a leaf underneath his tongue and let it dissolve. He could feel the ache in his head and shoulders slowly fade.

Tarmag turned back after a young soldier took off running in the direction of the castle. "What now?" Tarmag asked.

"Now," Link said, pushing off the wall and standing tall, "you keep the villagers calm and together until I return."

"Return? Where ya goin'?"

"I have to go see an old friend. I have to figure out how any of this could be possible," Link said. "Just stay together, I'll be back soon."

* * *

Link made his way down an empty alley and stopped at the rickety shack that served as his friend's home. It had been many years since his first visit to this small home, and he still wasn't any closer to figuring its owner out. He had his suspicions that the man was a wizard—retired perhaps, but a wizard nevertheless.

He raised his fist to knock on the crooked door, but was stopped by a gruff voice from inside: "Come in, Link! What are you doing just standing out there?"

Fighting back a smile, Link pushed the loose door open and walked inside the house. The single room was dark and had a musty smell. It was hard to see, but Link knew that around the room there were stacks of dusty books and scrolls. Link had never looked at any of them, but he guessed them to be full of spells and potion recipes.

The house's occupant sat in the old, worm chewed, wooden chair he called his 'thought chair.' A single band of cloth was tied around his sightless eyes, and his clothes were little more than rags, but he wore them as king would a crown. His dark wrinkled skin spoke his age. His gray hair was a knotted mess that gave him the look of a wildman—though he would never admit it, Link thought his friend like having that look so others would underestimate the keen mind that lay underneath the hair.

Link couldn't hold back the smile. "Duncan. I'm glad you are still awake."

"Bah," Duncan said with his usual venom. "You think I could be able to sleep through that little magical storm you brewed up?"

Link felt his way to a stool near the chair. "You felt that?" he asked.

Duncan snorted as though he'd just been asked if fire was hot.

"Then you know why I'm here?" Link said.

"I always know why you are here, my boy," he said. "But I do not think you know."

Link shifted the Master Sword slightly into a more comfortable position and leaned forward. "I have to know how such a thing could be possible. I have always been told that there are no other Knights, but I just fought one. I have always been told that the Knights of the Triforce were defenders of justice and truth, yet I have eyewitnesses that have seen a Knight gut a man for the simple reason he was walking down the street. How can any of this be possible? I feel like I'm going mad."

Duncan tipped his head to the side. "Then you can be assured of your sanity, for those who are insane never question their own minds. Nor do they think themselves unjustified." He paused for a moment. "What is your question?"

Link fought the urge to roll his eyes. "I just told you my question."

"And you answered it with the same breath," Duncan snapped. "Think of your question and ask again."

Link drummed his fingers on the Master Sword's hilt as he thought. "How can there be another with the same powers of the Master Sword if there is only one sword?" he asked finally.

Duncan gave a disappointed sigh. "Sometimes, boy," he said, "I doubt how much you truly know. Again you answered the question while asking it." He frowned. "Tell me, what is the most powerful force in the world? And think about the answer! Don't just guess."

Link took a deep breath and let it out slowly. As madding as it was, this was how Duncan taught. He always said that people weren't deserving of information if they didn't already know how to find it themselves.

Link thought of all the things he had seen and done. What could be the most powerful force in the world?

'Love?' he wondered. It was something that touched everyone, and could make people do things against their beliefs.

Beliefs.

Link looked up sharply. "Belief," he said. "Belief in anything is one of the most powerful forces," he said. "Belief in gods and goddesses can drive people to a life of service as monks and sisters. Belief in justice can lead to laws. Belief in love can make people devote their lives to one another. And belief in a common foe can drive countries to war."

Duncan looked proud. "Very good, my boy. The perception of belief is a powerful drive that we all share. Convince a woman you have stolen her bread and she will cry, convince her you have stolen her baby and she will attack with teeth of steel. Belief can be a powerful tool, one that rulers have used since the beginning of time. Very few armies will march off to their deaths if they think the right lies with their foe."

"This is all fascinating, Duncan," Link said. "But what does it have to do with my questions?"

"Do not fall into the trap I have just shown you how to build, Link."

Link blinked. "You are trying to tell me that my perception is wrong?

Duncan didn't say anything, he just continued to stare with a hidden gaze.

"I cannot deny the facts of what I've seen," Link said. "I felt his power, his presence. Yet I must be the last Knights for the prophecies to be true."

Duncan sighed again. "You are a snake eating its own tail, Link! You argue one side and then switch to the other. By your own admission only one can be true, choose a side now. Do not keep dancing between them. If you cannot decide what you already know, or face why you don't want to know, then leave me. I am an old man who has more important things to do than play nursemaid to a imprudent boy, who says he fights for the truth yet will not face it."

Link studied the floor. He knew what Duncan meant. "There's so much I don't know," he said softly. "He's older than I am; he would have been trained by another Knight. I know he's a murderer...but he could teach me so much. Make my journey so much easier."

He gave a start when Duncan put his hand on his shoulder. "That statement demonstrated an aspect of character that cannot be taught. You are restraining your intellect with the power of false belief, Link. You do not need me to help you find these answers."

Link wiped a hand across his eyes. "Yes I do, Duncan," he said. "How is he doing this? How is he using these powers?"

"Because he—and those around him—makes them available for use."

"How?"

Duncan sighed. "By the perception of his belief."

Link gave him a sardonic grin. "I grant you, Duncan, that belief can be a powerful thing, but...the Master Sword?"

"Belief is a very powerful thing," Duncan said. "A powerful magic."

"Magic?"

"Many types of magic, my boy. Some benign, some deadly. The power of belief exists on both sides."

"But still," Link began, "I don't understand how—"

"Link," Duncan said wearily, "think of your questions—and then of my answers."

Link sat back, thoughts racing through his head. He thought of all he had asked Duncan. The wording. The contradictions. With a rush of resolve, he stood and gazed down at his friend. He shoved all doubts and curiosities from his brain, and he accepted what he had always known as the truth.

"He's not a Knight," he said with determination. "His power isn't the same as the Master Sword's. It only looks the same." Link smiled as something Duncan might say popped into his head. "Like a knife next to a sword—both the same and both different."

"Very good, my boy," Duncan said. "You're right. About all of it."

Link ran his fingers back through his hair. "Gods, Duncan, he's creating magic! What could make a man want to belief himself a Knight of the Triforce so badly?" He grimaced at the memories of the things he had done, the choices he had been forced into making. "It isn't a prosperous job."

"Perhaps it is not the title he longs for," Duncan said. "Perhaps it is something the post represents."

"He wants justice," Link said. "That's what he told me."

"Then that is your answer."

Link shook his head insistently. "It's an answer that leads to another question: why? What could have happened to him that makes wish for such justice?"

"It has been my experience, my boy, that those that long for justice, have not had anything happen to them, but to the ones they love."

Link studied the old man in front of him; he knew that Duncan had ways of finding out information. "Could you tell me?" he asked.

Duncan shook his head. "That is beyond my ability to see," he said. At Link's grim nod, he said, "But it is not beyond yours."

The Knight looked up sharply. "How?"

The old man's lips turned up in a slight smile. "He had opened himself up to the Knight's soul. He believes that he has anyway, that is why your swords reacted so when they crossed—he thought he was coming after you with the same magic you were actually using. A bit one sided perhaps, but often that is all that is required."

"So I can use the power of the Master Sword to find him?"

Duncan shook his head. "You place too much authority on the blade at your hip—I do belief it now gains more power from you than you have ever gained from it."

"I don't understand."

"Of course you don't." Duncan sat forward in his chair. "Use your heritage, Link! You did not become a Knight of the Triforce when you pulled that blade from its place of rest; you were a Knight while you were still a babe suckling on your mother's breast. Use what is in your blood."

Link let the words sink in. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Thank you, Duncan." He turned to leave; he knew what he had to do, now.

He heard Duncan call his name. "Don't be fooled by false beliefs, my boy," he said. "Though that killer is not a Knight of the Triforce, he is still committed to his cause. And that can often be the most deadly magic of all."


	6. Chapter Six

****

Chapter Six

Link emerged from Duncan's home and took a deep breath of the cool, night air. He stood thinking for a moment and then pulled the Master Sword free. He could feel the awesome power yearning to be released but held it back.

He raised the sword and studied the carefully crafted pommel. He circled a finger around the Cataclysmic Eye and then down to the joined Triforce. "The symbol under which I serve," he whispered.

Without fully realizing it, he began walking down the alley. He kept a steady, confidant gait as he turned down street after street, seemingly at random. He didn't question how he knew which roads he wanted and which he didn't, he could just tell which ones would take him where he wanted to go.

The buildings around him began to change. The two and three story buildings gave way to squat, unadorned, single level constructions. Even in the dim moonlight, the darkened wood on many of them could be seen—remains from the fire the town suffered last year.

The wood on the buildings grew darker as Link turned the final curve. He stopped cold, his concentration broken. He stood looking down the street that suffered the worse of the fire—the street where it started. Building after building stood damaged beyond repair, empty husks of what had once stood. Glass-less windows offered peeks inside rooms where roofs had collapsed smashing all underneath them.

Link remembered the fire well; he remembered the desperate chains of water bearers that tried hopelessly to combat the flames. He remembered the screams of people trapped inside the burning buildings. He remembered the people that had braved the flames to try and reach the ones trapped. He remembered how the smoke had burned the inside of his nose when he had been in those buildings looking for people.

No one ever figured out how the fire was started, but many believed it to be a candle or lantern that had been left unattended. Even if the reason had been found, it would have been a cold comfort for those that had lost family or friends in the fire.

Link suddenly realized that he was standing in front of a doorway. He looked down the street and saw that he had walked most of its length without being aware of it. He turned his attention back to the doorway; a small pathway had been made in the rubble beyond the door. Swallowing past a dry throat, Link started in.

Bits of burned wood crunched underneath his boots as he walked down the dark path. Blackness pressed against him on both sides. Tiny stabs of moonlight came down, but they weren't bright enough to see by. Slowly his eyes adapted to the darkness. He could hear mice and rats scurrying away from the intruder that disturbed their home.

Ducking under a fallen beam, Link came to a small, den like clearing. He could see a dim glow in a stone hearth that hadn't been destroyed by the fire. Feeling his way to it, Link found that the stones were warm. Peering down, he saw that the glow he had seen was the dying remains of a recent fire.

Choosing a log from a small stack of wood next to the hearth, Link threw it on the glowing embers. Licks of flame came up around it immediately and the log began to burn.

With the improved light, Link could better see the den. Two beams of wood had been set up off to one side and canvas thrown over them. He saw a straw pallet set up underneath the canvas. Small pots and pans were clustered next to the wood stack, and looked as though they had been salvaged from fire-ridden homes. There were two books stacked next to a three leg stool; one had writing on the binding. Link tipped his head to the side and read out loud, "Adventures of a Hero."

He frowned and reached for the book without any writing on its binding. Its leather cover was worn and the threading was frayed, it looked as though it had had a lot of use. He opened the front cover and discovered that the book was a personal journal. Neat handwriting was spread across each page. The date on the first page read two years ago. Link quickly turned to the back and saw that the date was several days ago. The writing was no longer neat; it was now smudged and shaky.

"'_My purpose has now become clear_," Link read. "'_For too long the unjust have been allowed to run free. Too many people have been hurt because of them. I bear the full weight of these crimes, for as a Knight of the Triforce it is my responsibility to see to the safety of all. I can offer no apologies to the people save for the knowledge that I have heard their cries for help and have returned._

"'_I shall begin after I have retrieved my Blade of Evil's Bane from the blacksmith. I have seen it propped against the inside wall while the attendants work. They were clever to try and hide it with the other completed swords, but they cannot deny a Knight his birthright._

"'_I have heard that there is another Knight near by. I have learned long ago not to gather hope from such rumors, but I cannot deny the fact that, between the two of us, we could wipe all evil from this land. I would so love to meet him._'"

Link turned back to the front of the book, he read the name written on the inside cover out loud, "Kazuo."

Closing the book with a resounding snap, Link looked up and his gaze fell on the last remaining object in the room. Leaning against the wall was a blackened and burnt crib. Link slowly walked toward it. There was a hint of reverence in the air, as though the he had suddenly walked into a shrine.

Peering down into the crib, Link saw baby blankets with their edges darkened and frayed neatly folded at the bottom. Sitting next to the bundle was a woman's scarf. Link slowly lifted the scarf and brought it to his nose. It still held the scent of the woman who had wore it last mixed with the smell of soot.

Link looked down at the scarf in his hand and then down to the journal. He slowly replaced the scarf in the crib. He understood now.

* * *

The sky was brightening with the dawn when Link walked into Town Square. The east was deep purple in color as the sun prepared to rise. Though day was quickly approaching, the moon had yet to set and still provided most of the light.

Men in heavy armor with bared swords and pikes stood around the square. Link could see archers around the rooftops and along the corners of the square. Glenn Tarmag stood in the center of the commotion; he had changed from his leather armor into a shirt of chain mail. The hood of the shirt was pulled up, shielding his neck and head. His palace sword had been twisted around so the hilt now rose over one shoulder. A brace of knives decorated one side of his belt and a wicked looking war-ax hung from the other. He looked like a man ready to fight a war.

Link marched through the throng of guards. "Glenn?" he said, approaching his friend.

Tarmag turned and looked relieved when he saw Link. "Thank the Light," he whispered. "Where have ya been?"

"Learning about our friend," Link said. "What's our condition?"

"I've got a full regiment waitin' on your orders, Link," Tarmag said. "Princess Zelda is not to pleased with your orders but she ain't countermand them yet. She said to tell ya to be careful. Most of the villagers are bein' held in the inn—I put a full guard 'round the buildin' so ain't no one gettin' in there. I've ordered the archers to the roofs and formed a defensive perimeter of pike men. These boys have heard about what this killer has done and they want his head as badly as I do."

Link smiled slightly, sadly. "The quality of mercy, Glenn." He looked off to the side. "Did you make sure the killer didn't sneak into the inn with the townspeople? He might be trying to hide with them."

"Aye, I walked the ranks myself," Tarmag said. "He wasn't there."

Link nodded and then said, "Ready your people, I'll tell them what they have to do." He turned and began walking to the fountain in the center of the square.

He heard Tarmag shout: "All right, form up! All eyes forward!"

Stepping up onto the fountain's edge, Link turned and faced over a hundred soldiers waiting expectedly. "We have on the loose," he said quietly but with enough force so the men in back could hear, "a man who believes himself to be a Knight of the Triforce. He can, at first glance anyway, do everything I can do with the Master Sword." The crowd began muttering softly; they had all seen Link in the grip of the sword's power.

"I will be the one to face him," Link continued. "You will provide protection, not for me, but for the people of this city. I want two of you on every intersection and street end in the city. Archers will provide cover from the rooftops, and are to keep at least four guards in sight at all times. They are to keep their bows nocked and ready to fire.

"If you see or make contact with the killer, you are not to engage him. You will lose. You will die. This confrontation is mine to face." Link paused letting his words sink in. "When I make contact with the killer, you are to stay as far from us as possible. Back up, run inside a building, or just run away if you have to. I cannot be responsible for your safety as well as his and mine. Same goes for any civilians; they are your number one priority. Keep the civilians safe.

"When I confront the killer, you are to move the outer rings inward. This is a precaution should I fail." Link swept his gaze slowly across the guards, making eye contact with as many as possible. "If I am cut down, archers are ordered to bombard him with bolts. One or two will have no affect; he will grab them from the air or sweep them out of the way with his sword. The attack must come from all angles and be without mercy."

With nothing else to say, Link stepped down from the fountain.

"Dismissed!" Glenn called from inside the crowd.

After a few minutes of organized chaos, the men broke apart in twos and moved off to take up their stations. Link was left alone with Glenn.

"I'll echo the Princess," Tarmag said, "be careful. This isn't what I expected, Link. When ya ordered all these men, I thought we was goin' after him together."

"Decisions change, Glenn," Link said. "I'm the only one who can end this without needless blood being spilled."

"Just so yours isn't spilled in trying to save his," Tarmag said.

"Take your station, old friend," was Link's reply. "Let me end this."

Tarmag let out a long sigh and then turned on his heel and walked away. Link waited until the clop of his boots faded before wrapping his hand around the Master Sword's hilt and pulling it free.

He remembered what he had said earlier about the quality of mercy and then called forth the sword's power.

* * *

Lost in a haze of magic, Link walked down the deserted streets. He gave small nods to the soldiers keeping watch at the street corners but never slowed his steady gait. He didn't fully comprehend how he was doing it, but he knew that he was somehow calling the killer to him.

He calmly held the magic of the Master Sword. He held the joy and the sadness of it. The might and the fervor of it. It flowed through his soul but not his mind. He was its governor—not it his.

Around him the world suddenly slowed, twisting about him like paper curling in a fire. He raised the sword slightly and turned. The killer stood at the mouth of an alley. His sword was also drawn; he held it at an easy position at his side. A hopeful smile spread across his face.

"Have you decided to join me, brother?" he asked.

Link hesitated for a fraction of a second, then said, "You are not my brother."

The killer's smile fell. "But we are of the same kind. Our goals are the same, we are brothers in that aspect."

"Our goals could never be the same," Link said. "I stand for truth and the basic right for people to live lives free of fear and hate."

The killer nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! You do see. The only way people can have that kind of life is through the eradication of the unjust."

Link shook his head. "No, it is not. The way to give that to the people is by giving them freedom of choice. No one person can dictate what is right and what is wrong. If I choose a way for others to live, or set down rule by which they must live, I would become that which I fight. The only way to give freedom and happiness is to provide the opportunity of choice. For people to have happiness, they must seek it out themselves. I cannot give it to them, though I would love to be able to do so."

The killer took a step forward, pleadingly. "Then why to you seek to stop me from restoring justice?"

"Because what you are restoring is not justice," Link said. "You are instilling fear. You are not working for the people, you are working against them."

"But the unjust must be punished!"

"Yes they must," Link said sadly. "But one man cannot, must not, be the arbitrator of what is right and wrong. If guilt is to be found in a crime, then it must be discovered with truth, proof, and a trial. Justice is never found when one man is the final arbitrator and executioner."

"Yet you serve at the pleasure of a monarch," the false Knight said. "A one-woman dealer of justice."

"I serve at the pleasure of the land of Hyrule," Link said firmly. "Zelda is my friend. There have been times when my reasoning has crossed with hers, but she does understand the necessity of protecting the people as a whole. For that, I respect her. She knows that Hyrule, and her people, must be protected from those who would seek to rule without regard to fairness."

The killer looked saddened. "You have been lead so far astray from what the Knights of the Triforce stand for. If you come with me, I shall teach you what it truly means."

Link swallowed hard. "If you stand for what the dictum of the Knights truly says, then I deny my title. For I would never seek to harm someone who wishes only to live by his own choices." He took a step forward brandishing his blade. "If you actually believe in justice drop your sword and come with me."

The killer looked down and then up the street. "Do you really think they can stop me?" he said, meaning the two guards waiting on each corner.

"No," Link said evenly. "But I can. Drop your sword and come with me."

The killer smiled. "I assume you have taken precautions should you fall?"

"Yes."

"You care for those who would stand in the way of justice." It was not a question.

"I care for those who would stand against a force that threatens other people," Link said. "I am giving you one last warning..." The threat hung in the air.

The killer took a step forward, his boots clicking on the cobblestones. His cloak blew back slightly. "Very well," he said. "If it must be this way...then I shall play my part." Moving at lightning speed, his left arm came up. A blade flashed in the soft light of the new day.

Instinct and skill swirled together as Link brought the Master Sword up in a block. He backpedaled and switched his grip on the sword to a two-handed hold.

The killer stepped in quickly and attacked with a downward chop. Link stepped to the side and parried. The blades met with a clash of steel and hot sparks.

They kept their blades locked and slowly circled one another.

"I don't want to have to kill you," Link said through gritted teeth. "This doesn't have to be this way."

"Yes it does!" The killer brought his sword around and then he was free from Link's sword. He took a half step back and, with a scream born of magic, swung his blade in an arcing cleave.

Link quickly jumped back. The killer's swing, a swing that would cut an ordinary man down instantly, missed the Knight by scant inches.

The killer blinked in surprise as his attack missed.

Link hung back, letting the killer recover. "End this, Kazuo! This doesn't have to go any further."

The killer's head came up sharply.

"Yes, Kazuo," Link said. "I know your name. I know why you are doing all this."

"I seek fairness!"

Link nodded. "Yes, you do. It wasn't fair when your wife and child died, was it?"

Kazuo didn't answer. Instead, chest heaving and tears forming in his eyes, he lunged forward. His blade raised.

Link stumbled back when their swords crossed. Again and again, the killer's sword struck his. Kazuo's scream of rage was punctuated by the clash of swords. Link twisted his wrists from right to left, blocking each swing. He refused to return the attack; he fought only defensively. He would end this with reason, not with a magic fueled assault.

"There was nothing you could do," Link shouted over the sounds of combat. "It was an accident, nothing more."

"No!" Again he struck.

Link twisted his sword catching the wild swing. "It wasn't fair when they died was it, Kazuo?"

"I don't know who Kazuo is!" the killer said, tears wetting his cheeks. "I am a Knight of the Triforce, bringer of justice."

Link shook his head. "You're a father who lost his baby. You're a husband seeking a reason for your wife's death. There is no reason, Kazuo, I wish there was one I could give you but there isn't. The fire was an accident; it was a tragic accident."

"It was an act of injustice and must be avenged!" Kazuo said.

"No," said Link. "I'm deeply sorry for your loss, but this isn't the way." He took a step forward and held his hand out, palm up. "Give me the sword, Kazuo."

The man with the hook shaped nose stood in the new day's sunlight and looked down at his sword. "But I'm a Knight," he said weakly.

"It only seems so," Link said, his hand still held out. "An image born out of sadness and fear and having been witness to the greatest injustice a parent can ever see. Let it end here...let them rest in peace."

The look of magic returned to the false Knight's blue eyes. He screamed "No" and brought the sword around.

Link jerked away and pulled his hand back...but not quick enough. Pain exploded in his hand as he stumbled back. Deflecting a slash aimed at his head, Link stole a glance down at his hand. A clean slice ran across his palm, and blood had already begun pooling in its wrinkles and folds.

Backpedaling, Link blocked again and thought hard. How could he break the spell that this sad man had trapped himself in? He was beginning see why Duncan had called belief one of the most powerful thing in the world; once someone was deeply convinced of something, it was near impossible to convince him or her otherwise.

The pain in his hand had called the magic to his defense, but he held it back, barely. He tried to think of some other way to end the fight without killing or being killed.

Link blocked and then dodged to the side. The false Knight spun and again aimed for Link's head. Their swords came together and Link stumbled back.

An idea begin forming in Link's brain, but he didn't know if he control the Master Sword's power to such an end.

Deciding he had to do something, Link stepped away from his strategy of pure defense and attacked. He feinted at Kazuo's neck, twisted and pivoted the blade for second feint on the other side. He followed through with a third feint toward the gut.

Kazuo backpedaled, his sword trying to follow the Knight's

Link moved in and attacked again. Their swords came together, and Kazuo stumbled, nearly falling to the ground. Kazuo, at best, had been a merchant or storekeeper before losing his family to the fire and wasn't much of a swordsman; he had been relying on the magic in his sword to do the fighting for him. Link used every trick the blademasters in the palace guards had shown him to press Kazuo farther back.

"Do you yield?" Link asked over their crossed swords.

Kazuo's throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed. "Never."

Link nodded. The commitment had been made. The Knight of the Triforce called the power of the Master Sword to do his bidding. He took a long step back and brought the sword around.

Kazuo squared his stance and readied himself for the attack.

The storm of magic swirled in Link's soul. Heedless of the price, he pulled magic from the blade until his vision swam. Time seemed to slow. The Knight felt as though he stood on the border between two realities. He called the magic without abandon while also struggling to keep its lethal intent from overwhelming his restraint.

The magic washed through his veins, searching his soul for a goal to focus on. Like a flea fighting to restrain a wild horse, the Knight clung to his understanding of his opponent's pain to keep the magic controlled.

With the speed of molasses falling, the Master Sword came around, aiming for the false Knight. Its tip could be heard whistling through the air.

With more will than Link realized he had, he gripped the magic and held it back as the swords came together. The blades met with a cry of hot metal. Kazuo stumbled back, nearly losing his grip on his sword's hilt.

Link took a step forward, keeping his blade pressed to Kazuo's. He knew he had to do it now or possibly never gain the chance again. The Knight of the Triforce loosened the magic with a vengeance. His boundaries of restraint vanished in a torrent of ancient magic. It seared through his being taking a goal from his need. It would have its due.

Like a brief touch of a summer's breeze against his skin, the Knight felt the magic swirl back up the Master Sword. He felt it take note of where the two swords touched.

Link saw fingers of lightning crackle along his and the false Knight's blade. Kazuo's eyes went wide; he didn't understand what was being done to him.

The false Knight's sword suddenly shattered like a crystal chandelier hitting a stone floor. Link watched as, in slow motion, the tiny shards fell to the cobblestones. The light of the rising sun caught each, transforming them into small prisms as they fell.

His gaze slowly came to Kazuo.

The man with the hook shaped nose looked down to the hilt with a two-inch blade that he still gripped tightly. A single tear fell from his eyes and hit the broken pommel. The spell had been broken.

The air around the hilt rippled like a lake when a stone was thrown in. And Link saw that it was no longer a double to his—it was now a simple black hilt. Similar to many others the blacksmith made, it had only been special to the one who believed.

Kazuo let the hilt fall to the ground. Every belief he had had just abandoned him. Turning, he moved to run away.

Link was faster; he quickly V stepped to the side and swung the Master Sword. He made a shallow cut that started at Kazuo's waist and ended just above his calf. He was sure not to cut too deep—he didn't want to save him only to kill him. With a strangled cry when he tried putting weight on his injured leg, Kazuo crumpled to the ground.

Spinning, Link turned his wrists slightly and laid the edge of his sword on Kazuo's neck. "Don't move," he said.

Kazuo slumped and began weeping. He was in no condition to move even if he wanted to.

Link waved over the guards waiting warily at the end of the street. After they had taken Kazuo's arms, he rested the Master Sword on the cobblestones and leaned against it as though it were a walking stick. He shook with exhaustion.

"Are ya all right, Link?" he heard Glenn Tarmag ask.

Link managed a nod and watched as Kazuo was led away. "Yeah, Glenn. I'm fine," he said.


	7. Chapter Seven

****

Chapter Seven

It was called Russo's House. It stood at an unsavory end of Hyrule Castle Town with little adornment. It was a house of many sins; it had been witness to both love and lust. It had seen the joy of a baby's conception and the pain of a woman's death.

The Knight of the Triforce stood on the rooftop of Russo's House looking out at the daily goings-on of the townsfolk. A woman and a man had lost their lives the night before, but still the day demanded the people to continue their lives without pause. The hands on the clock that was life kept moving no matter what the last minute had seen.

Link reached down and picked up the worked metal charm with a simple leather strap for hanging. His fingers ran down the smooth edges of the joined triangles. The symbol under which he served. The symbol under which two had died.

"You should be in bed, my boy," a voice said behind him.

Link turned to the voice. "Duncan? What are you doing up here?"

The blind man clad in rags smiled. "Is that not what I should ask you?"

Link let out a long breath. "I don't know, Duncan. I just don't. There was no sense to this whole thing. A year ago a woman and her child died in a fire and because of that, a man and a woman lost their lives last night. It just doesn't make any sense to me."

Duncan took a step forward, his walking stick tapping in front of him. "I would worry if it did, my boy—madness has no purpose. If you need comfort, seek it in the fact that two, not three, died without purpose last night.

"You could have taken that madman's head for the things he had done, but you spared him. And if I know you, you will save him again by speaking against execution at his trial. Seek solace in the fact that you saved him and will again."

"I saved his life, Duncan," Link said. "But I couldn't save his soul."

"Nor was it yours to save," Duncan said. "He gave his soul to a fire that burned a year ago. It was irretrievable by you...or by him."

"It's just that there should be a greater reason," Link said. "I've seen people die. I've seen people give themselves to a cause and die for it, but nothing so senseless as last night." He looked again to the ornament in his hand. "Why kill one prostitute and not all of them? He could have taken a torch to this building and killed all inside, but he chose one above all the others, why?"

Duncan shook his head. "I cannot answer that, Link. No one can. Do not try and find sense in the senseless...doing that has driven men wiser than you or I into the abyss of madness. Last night happened for the reason that one man wished for justice so hard he created something that was the peak of injustice."

"It doesn't seem fair, Duncan."

"No it doesn't, my boy. Cling to that and you shall save yourself from that poor soul's fate."

Link looked back to the symbol in his hand.

Duncan put a hand on his friend's arm. "Go home and sleep, Link. You have done all that was required of you for now, rest for the next challenge."

The Knight nodded and pressed the amulet into Duncan's hand. "Thank you, old friend. For everything." He walked to the stairs.

* * *

Duncan listened as Link's footfalls faded.

He ran a finger over the ornament that had been given to him. He let both his sense of touch and his unique gift of magical understanding feel the ornament. He held it out, letting it dangle from its leather strap. He couldn't see it, but knew the sun was shining through the center of the joined Triforce.

"_O, Dduwiesau achub hyn 'n gyfrodedd eneidiau at 'r ansawdd chan 'ch drugaredd_," he whispered in a language known only to a select few. He slipped the amulet into a pocket and said, "Please hear my prayer."

He turned and followed the Knight of the Triforce off the roof.

****

End.


End file.
